


Daddy Issues

by Sirele



Category: The Bronze (2015)
Genre: (author is pro-choice but character is not), Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Daddy Kink, Discussion of Abortion, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gymnastics, Homophobic Language, Impregnation Kink, Lance Tucker is an asshole, Manipulation, Marriage of Convenience, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, POV First Person, Sexist Language, Teenage Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unreliable Narrator, anti-abortion language, fatphobic language, student/coach relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 06:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirele/pseuds/Sirele
Summary: "Maggie Townsend was unable to compete for another gold. She got knocked up with Lance Tucker's baby."Please read the tags and warnings.





	1. Early bird catches the sperm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Early bird catches the sperm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7591411) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Chapter 1 is a repost of a previously posted fic that I am continuing with permission.

Mom always said life is a blessing, but I’m not gonna lie: it felt more like a curse when that little plus sign showed up. I had dreams, big dreams, and they didn’t involve being 17 and pregnant. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree - at least I was going to be one year older than Mom was when she gave birth to me, but after everything she sacrificed for me and my dreams, I knew she wasn’t going to take it real well when I told her she was going to be a grandma at 33.

There was somebody else I kinda had to tell first, though. The father. My Daddy. Lance Tucker.

Shut up, I know what you’re thinking. Eww, right? But he’s not my actual father or even my stepfather or anything like that. He’s my coach.

That probably doesn’t sound any better. A 29 year old gymnastics coach sleeping with his 17 year old student. Calling her Baby. Knocking her up with an actual honest-to-god baby. It just sort of happened, okay? My first day as his student at the new gym in LA, he pulled me into his office and told me that he knew I saw Hope as my friend, but he didn’t want me to think of him like that.

“You should think of me more like your father. Strict and stern, but only wanting the best for you.”

“I never knew my father,” I told him.

“I know that,” he said, looking annoyed. “Just pretend. It will do you good to have a man in your life.”

“Okay, Daddy,” I said. I said it to tease him, but he looked surprised and then he laughed. He’s beautiful when he laughs, seriously. The way he crinkles up his eyes. The way he throws his head back. Even back then, I felt my stomach twist a little when I saw it. I liked that I made him laugh. I wanted to make him laugh again.

“Alright, Maggie-baby,” he said. “If that’s the way you want to play it, that’s how we can play it. Not in front of anybody else, though, okay? It’ll be our secret.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said. “Whatever you say.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Whatever I say.” I remember noticing suddenly how dark his eyes had become, the icy blue-gray of his irises just a thin ring around the blackness of his pupils. I didn’t know at the time what it meant. I didn’t know a lot of things.

Anyway, that’s how I became Maggie-baby. It turned pretty quickly into just plain Baby, but sometimes, when I did really well, he’d call me Baby Girl, and that was my favorite. The way he’d smile in those moments, and how his voice would soften and go low pitched when he said it, like a little secret just for me. I would have done anything for him in those moments. Everything. 

That wasn’t how it started, though. It was the opposite, actually, not sweet or loving at all. In any relationship between two people, whether student and coach, parent and child, sibling and sibling, employee and boss, or whatever, somebody is inevitably going to have a bad day. Everybody has bad days sometimes, and you just have to push through them. Unfortunately, it's a lot harder when you’re both having a bad day on the  _ same _ day. 

The day I lost my virginity to Lance Tucker, we were both having a  _ terrible _ day. I was messing everything up and getting frustrated and upset about it, and he was losing patience fast (he doesn't have much to begin with), both with my mistakes and my attitude. Lance doesn’t swear as much as Hope did on her bad days, but almost. By about three quarters of the way into our planned session, I was pretty sure the air must be turning blue from all the swearing, and every new curse that passed his lips felt heavier and heavier, like he was pounding them into my skull with a hammer. I was getting closer and closer to breaking down in tears and I finally just covered my hands with my ears and screamed at him to shut up.

Well.

He was already mad as a hornet in a jar, and that sure didn’t help matters. He yanked me up off the mat by one arm, his grip so tight I had bruises for days.

“Don’t tell me to shut up, little girl,” he snarled, and stalked off towards his office, dragging me behind. He pushed me inside so hard I stumbled and had to grab at his desk to keep from falling down and then he slammed the door behind us and turned on me, still furious.

“Wh-what are you doing, Daddy?” I quavered, starting to feel frightened.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” he shouted. “You can’t stay on your fucking feet! You do the beam, you land on your ass. You do the bars, you land on your ass. You do the fucking floor, you land on your ass. You land on your ass one more time, girl, and I’m gonna make damn sure you regret it. Bend over the desk.”

“What?” I said again, stupidly.

“I said, bend over the desk, girl, or do I make you?”

I bent.

Behind me, I heard him open the door of the little closet where he kept his extra clothes, and there was a muffled jangle of metal. I craned my neck around just in time to see him folding a thick leather belt in half and taking the loose ends in one hand. He gave an experimental slap against his palm, winced, and grinned.

“Daddy, please!” I gasped. “Please don’t hit me, I’ll do better!” My mom had taken her belt to me one time in my entire life, when I was 8 years old and stole a candy bar from the gas station. It was horrible.

“You’re damn right you’ll do better,” he said. “And I’m going to hit you whether you want it or not, because your job is to land on your fucking feet and my job is to correct you when you’re wrong, and unlike you,  _ I do my fucking job _ .”

He demonstrated by cracking the belt hard across my buttocks. The thin leotard I was wearing gave hardly any protection at all, so I felt every bit of that sting. I may have screamed, I don’t really remember.

“Say it,” he growled behind me.  _ Slap _ . “Say, ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’”  _ Slap _ . “‘I won’t land on my ass anymore.’”  _ Slap _ .

My whole backside felt like it was on fire and I was crying. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I hiccoughed between sobs. “I won’t land on my a-a-”

SLAP! The hardest yet.

“My ass!” I yelped. “I won’t land on my ass anymore.”

“Good,” he growled. “Good girl. You do and you’ll regret it. Here.”  _ Slap _ . “Are a few more.”  _ Slap _ . “Reminders.”  _ Slap _ . “For you.”  _ Slap _ .

I wasn’t so much crying as whimpering by that point, half out of my mind with the pain, and yet I remember how strange his voice sounded then. A little breathless with the effort and yet oddly hoarse, like he was fighting something. I heard a thud and a jangle as he tossed the belt aside and it hit the floor, and then he grabbed me by the hips and flipped me over on the desk so I was looking up at him and he was there, right there, standing at the edge of the desk between my open legs. His body sagged a little, like his anger had left with the belt, but there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his face was red. His eyes were bright and black, every bit of ice swallowed up by his pupils, and suddenly I knew what it meant, knew what he’d been fighting.

I knew, because I’d been fighting it, too.

“Daddy,” I croaked, hearing my voice crack, rough with crying. I reached up to touch his face, wipe away a few of the little beads of sweat, and that seemed to break something in him.

“Maggie-baby,” he said, almost a groan, and then he fell on me, pushing our mouths together hot and frantic. I could feel him hard against the thin fabric covering my crotch and I wrapped my legs around his waist and hooked them together, pulling him in, grinding him against me until he moaned and reared up, breaking the kiss. He grabbed the neckline of my leotard in his hands, and pulled, gritting his teeth with the effort until the cloth gave way with a sharp tearing noise and fell away from my body in tatters, leaving me exposed to him.

It was the first time I’d ever been naked in front of a man and the odd thing was that I didn’t feel shy or ashamed or frightened at all. I shoved the tattered remnants of the leotard off my shoulders and sat up - wincing a little, I admit, as I put weight on my still-smarting ass - and tugged just as eagerly at his clothes, helping him shuck his shirt off over his head, shove his pants down around his knees, and then he was kissing me again, kissing me like he was going to devour me, and shoving inside me, hard and not gentle at all. 

I yelped as he broke through my hymen and he pulled away from my mouth as quickly as if he’d been burned

“You were a fucking virgin?” he demanded incredulously.

“Yes,” I said, suddenly frightened. Was that a bad thing? Was he angry again?

“Fuck,” he said, his eyes going wide and shocked. “I didn’t know, we shouldn’t have-” 

He was already starting to gather himself together and pull out, so I tightened my legs around him and hung on. “Please,” I said. “Please, I want it.”

He stilled, still half in and half out. “I-” he started.

“Please!” I cried, and then I had an idea. “Please, Daddy, I want you to f-fuck me,” I said, in my sweetest little-girl voice, and I saw the exact moment he gave in.

I think I’ll remember that moment for the rest of my life, and not just because of my lost virginity. I had never felt so beautiful, so wanted, so  _ powerful _ . The pain in my ass was forgotten, I felt like I could take on the whole world and win. He was my coach, my Daddy, my strict and stern taskmaster, but in that moment, it was I who ruled him.

“Maggie-baby,” he moaned, his voice breaking as he shoved back inside me. “My baby girl.”

“All yours, Daddy,” I told him. “Only yours. It’s all for you, just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Jesus fuck,” he said, pausing the staccato rhythm of his hips to stare at me. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Nowhere,” I said, confused. “It just… seemed right. Do you not like it?” I asked, suddenly worried.

He gave a strangled laugh and started moving again. “Say something like that again and I'm gonna blow my brains out through my dick. You're so fucking good, you have no idea. You're being so good for me.”

“I can be better. I'll do whatever you want, Daddy, anything if I can be your baby girl.”

“Jesus fuck,” he moaned again. “Keep talking.”

So, yeah. That’s how I became a teen pregnancy statistic. 

I mean, probably. Technically, I guess it could have been any of the other 25 or so times we did it over the next two weeks. I wish I could say I even thought about birth control, but I hadn’t had my period for about six months at that point, so when I finally did remember about 10 days in that possibly we should be using some sort of protection, I figured it probably didn’t matter and I didn’t even bother to bring it up with him. For his part, I guess he figured the same, or maybe he thought since I never brought it up that I was on the Pill or something. Whatever it was, our efforts to christen every mat and piece of equipment in the gym remained unencumbered by the effort of finding a condom before we started going at it.

We were having a great time, until I noticed about a month after that day with the belt that my breasts suddenly hurt when I ran, and worse, seemed to be  _ growing.  _ A couple weeks later, I started getting queasy in the mornings, and that was when I started to suspect what had happened. My mom always groaned a little bit when she reminisced about how sick she got when she was pregnant with me.

So there I was, two days later, with a positive pregnancy test in my bag and my dreams of winning another gold medal in ruins at my feet. In Lance’s arms, I might have felt like I could take on the world, but the battle I was fighting sure as heck wasn't going to be the next world championship. It’s pretty hard to do a floor routine when you’re 7 months pregnant and can’t see your feet. 

To borrow Hope’s favorite word:  _ fuck _ .

Lance’s office door was open when I came into the gym, careful to make sure there was nobody else around. As his gold medal student, our lessons had always been private, but they were extra private now that I was as likely to be riding Lance as the pommel horse if anybody should suddenly walk in. However, I was half an hour early for our session, and I wasn’t sure if he was always the first into the gym or not.

He looked up from his papers when I knocked on the doorframe, and looked surprised to see me. Little did he know.

“What are you doing here so early, Baby Girl?” he said, getting up and coming over to me.

“I, uh, needed to talk to you,” I said.

“Talk?” he asked. “Or ‘talk?’” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

One of the things I’d learned over the preceding six weeks was that Lance was basically always horny. This worked fine for me, because I was, too. Especially around him. I mean, c’mon. You’ve seen him on TV. He really is that gorgeous.

“Can we do both?” I asked, good intentions about serious adult conversations flying out the window. I’m weak, sue me.

“Okay,” he grinned, picking me bodily up, and kicking the door shut behind me with one foot. Then he pushed me up against it and proceeded to jackhammer me into the wood until we both collapsed on the floor in sated and exhausted puddles of sweat and, well, other stuff.

Unfortunately, his hand landed on my breast and he suddenly frowned and sat up. “Are your tits getting bigger? You haven’t gone back to Hope’s 10,000 calorie-a-day diet, have you?” he asked suspiciously.

There was really no way to break this gently. 

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out.

I’ve never seen a human being move so fast. Lance recoiled so hard he nearly hit the opposite wall.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” he spat.

“I’m pregnant,” I said again, and burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” I sniffled. “I didn’t think I could get pregnant. I haven’t had my p-period in  _ ages _ .”

Lance was pulling on his pants like he was a fireman and the bell had just gone off. As soon as they were on, he ran over to his desk, unlocked the cash drawer, and started pulling out bills, counting frantically and fumbling as he tried to bundle them together with a rubber band. “Here,” he said, tossing the stack at me. “Go get it taken care of.”

“Taken care of?” I said, staring blankly at the bills. There had to be at least $200 in my lap.

“Abort it,” he said, his tone suggesting that I was a particularly stupid child.

“I’m not getting an abortion,” I said, my tears drying up with the shock of his words. “That’s murder!”

Lance ran his hands through his hair, his eyes a little wild. “I thought Hope  _ cured _ you of this stupid fucking Jesus shit! Of course you’re going to abort it.”

“It’s not stupid,” I said. I don’t get mad very often, but I could feel it starting to build up. My brows were already starting to pull together into what Mom called my “stormy” face. She hardly ever saw it, so on the rare occasions we fought she tended to give in as soon as she did. I wondered if it would work the same on Lance. “And I’m  _ not _ going to abort it.”

Lance groaned and collapsed into his chair. His hair was sticking up in every direction. “Do you understand what this will do to me if it gets out?” he said. “If the Federation finds out I slept with a student, my coaching career is over. Fuck, have you even had your 18th birthday yet?”

I shook my head. “I only turned 17 four months ago.”

“Fuck. Fuck!” he said, banging his head on the desk. “Shit! So not only is my career dead, but I could go to fucking jail for this! Do you want me to go to jail?”

“Of course not,” I said.

“Then abort it. Please, I’m begging you. This can’t get out! Look,” he said, rummaging in his drawer again and pulling out more handfuls of cash. How much did he  _ have _ in there? “I’ll pay you. I’ll give you more if you just abort the fucking thing.”

I wiped my eyes and put one hand protectively over my still-flat tummy. “It’s not a ‘fucking thing,’ it’s my child. And yours. Don’t talk about it like that again.” I stood up and pulled on my track pants and jacket, gathering my bag and the rest of my clothes in my arms. “And I won’t abort,” I added, glaring at him and turning to go.

“Wait,” he said. “What about your gold medal? You can’t compete in the world championship next year if you’re pregnant. What about your dreams? What about your  _ career _ ?”

“They’ll just have to be put on hold,” I said, opening up the door.

Suddenly Lance was right there between me and the exit.

“Look,” he said. “Wait. I’m sorry, I just panicked, okay? Don’t be mad. We’ll figure this out.”

“I can’t believe you want to murder your own child,” I said, glaring at him.

He flinched, but grabbed my arm. “Just… don’t tell anyone else yet, okay? I’ll figure this out.”

“The honorable thing to do would be to marry me,” I snapped.

His jaw dropped open and he blinked at me, looking weirdly fish-like and not handsome at all. “Are you from fucking Victorian times all the sudden? If I marry you, that might as well be a full confession. Sex with an underage student - my career’s over. Dead. Kaput. Ain’t happening, Baby.”

“So what are you gonna do, send me away to the country for my confinement?”

Lance was still staring at me like I was a zoo animal or something. “For a girl who sucked my dick hanging upside down on the parallel bars, you’re still being weirdly 19th century here,” he said. I felt myself flush. I can't help it that my mom likes to watch old Jane Austen movies. But when I opened my mouth to respond, he slapped a hand over it. “I told you, I’ll figure this out,” he murmured, voice dropping to our special tone. “Just listen to Daddy and don’t tell anyone. Got it, Baby Girl?”

I was still mad at him, but I felt my resolve slipping under the full force of his voice and his gaze. “Okay, Daddy,” I whispered.

“Good girl. Go get dressed and go home. Get yourself a milkshake or something - I guess if you want to take up Hope’s 10,000 calorie a day diet again, there’s nothing now to stop you getting as fat as you want. Ain’t like it’s gonna be the deciding factor between you and another gold when you’re waddling around with a belly like you just swallowed a watermelon.” 

“I’m not going to get fat again,” I said, stung.

Lance just raised his brows at me. 

“Pregnant’s not fat,” I muttered.

“It sorta is,” he said. He dug a piece of gum out of his pocket, popped it in his mouth, and promptly snapped it, then grinned. “You know, I never fucked a preggo chick before,” he said. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“You’re gross,” I said.

“Never bothered you before,” he leered, and headed back to his desk. “Your tits look great, by the way,” he added over his shoulder. “I can see I’m going to enjoy this.”

Ugh. I didn’t dignify that with a response.

*************

Thank God my mom had gotten bored sitting around at home about two months into our relocation and gone out to get herself a job as a waitress at a diner about a mile from our apartment, or I never would have been able to hide the next few mornings of more or less continuous throwing up. Lance finally called three days after our conversation at the gym.

“Come to my office,” he said. “I figured it out.”

“How?” I asked. I was clammy and tired from another round of barfing, propped up with one elbow on the toilet seat. Gross as it was - toilet water smell, ugh - I really didn’t feel like moving.

“I’ll explain when you get here,” he said.

Double ugh. I hauled myself up and into the shower.

“You look like shit,” Lance said cheerfully when I got to his office about 40 minutes later.

“I’m sorry your baby made me barf all morning,” I said sarcastically. 

“The sicker you are, the stronger it will be. That’s an old wives’ tale, right?”

“I think it’s supposed to mean it will be a girl,” I muttered. 

“Good. With genes like ours, maybe she can grow up to fulfill your dream of becoming an Olympic gold medalist, since you’ve decided to throw away your chance.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m not aborting this baby, so you can stop trying to make me feel bad about keeping it.”

Lance shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. I took care of it anyway.” He swept his arm grandiosely towards the desk behind us. “Meet Ansel Sommer.”

That’s when I noticed the other person in the room. Ansel grinned sheepishly at me from the chair by Lance’s desk, where he’d clearly been trying to make himself look as small as possible. He was pretty short, which helped, but so muscular he made Lance look like Jack Skellington, so the only reason it really worked was Lance intercepting me before I could spot him and distracting me.

“Hi, Ansel,” I said politely, then immediately turned back to Lance. “I’ve been coming to your gym for five months, “ I told him. “I already know Ansel. Why is he here?”

“He,” Lance said, “is the solution to our problem. And we’re the solution to his. This really couldn’t have worked out any better for all of us, in fact. I’m a fucking genius.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let me decide that.”

“Ooh, look at Baby, all grown up and making her own decisions,” Lance cooed in a truly revolting voice. 

“I’m going to have to, aren’t I?” I said, dropping a hand protectively to my belly. “Or is ‘taking responsibility’ such an alien concept in California?”

“Hey now, spare me the judgement until you hear my brilliant plan,” Lance said. “Ansel here, as you may know, is a big flaming faggot and has been fucking Chris Czajkowski behind his parents’ back for, what, three years now?”

“Four,” Ansel said sheepishly.

“His parents are Jesus freaks like you - you’re going to love them - and will disown him if they find out. And they’re starting to get suspicious. So, we’re going to throw them off the scent. You, Maggie-baby, have been having a secret affair with him and whoops! The condom broke. So Ansel is going to do the  _ honorable _ thing and marry you. He’s a rising star, so he’ll get plenty of endorsements, and his parents are rich as fuck anyway, so he’ll be able to support you and the baby a helluva lot better than your mom’s waitressing job. Ansel can keep fucking Chris. I can keep fucking you. Ansel is less than two years older than you so nobody loses their job or goes to jail. And the only one who loses anything is you, because you’ll be sitting on the sidelines with a big baby belly cheering on your beloved husband at the next world championships instead of standing on the podium yourself like you deserve. But really, the media’s gonna eat that shit up with a spoon, so it could be worse. When he wins Olympic gold, you’ll probably get a Lifetime movie about your oh-so-sweet teenage romance.” Lance snapped his gum and grinned. “Genius, am I right?”

I had to admit it was surprisingly thorough, but I was still grouchy from the argument the other day (not to mention all the barfing), so I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so easily. “What if I don’t want to keep fucking you?” I grumbled.

Lance snorted. “The alternative is a life of celibacy with your homosexual husband while he’s off getting his ass ploughed by Chris Czajkowski, and if that thing you did to me on the pommel horse is any indication, that’s not a life that’s gonna suit you real well. Anyway, I’d like to see you try and be satisfied with anybody else after you’ve had me. I’m the best, Baby Girl, and don’t you forget it.”

I saw Ansel’s brows go up incredulously. “Okay, rule number one for this arrangement. I don’t care what kinky shit you guys get up to when you're alone, but I  _ don’t want to know _ . I don’t rub Chris’s amazing ass-ploughing skills in your face, you don’t rub anyone’s pussy in mine. Agreed? Also, please take the pommel horse out back and burn it. What was she even doing on there? Girls don’t need to learn pommel horse.”

Lance smirked. “She was f-” Ansel and I both lunged for his mouth at the same moment and our hands smacked together as we covered it up before he could say any more. 

Lance rolled his eyes as Ansel and I grinned at each other in triumph.

“I guess we make a good team,” I said shyly to Ansel. “Wanna get hitched?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a quote from the film


	2. Absence makes the dick grow harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So just like that, I was engaged to a guy I barely knew.

So just like that, I was engaged to a guy I barely knew. Ansel had always seemed like a nice enough guy, but there was a lot I was going to have to learn about him if we were going to pull this off. Lance stopped making gross comments long enough to help Ansel and me work out a backstory for our fake relationship, and after that, everything started moving surprisingly quickly. 

First things first - telling our parents. Ansel and I called a meeting with my mom and Ansel's parents to tell them all about our "relationship", the baby on the way and our decision to get married. We "invited" Lance, too - after all, as our coach, he was going to need to know officially, too. 

My mom burst into tears the moment I announced my pregnancy. She'd had such high hopes for me, and here I was, throwing my chance at Olympic gold away forever. Seeing her crying made me want to cry, too, but I kept my head high and a smile on my face, just like Hope had taught me. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. 

Ansel's mom cried, too, but tears of joy. She didn't care about my career - why should she? She was quite a bit older than my mom, probably almost old enough to be my grandmother, and you could see that she was just happy she was going to have a grandbaby before she got too old to enjoy it. 

Ansel's dad wasn't sad like my mother or joyful like his wife. He was angry. He started laying into Lance for not noticing that we were having an affair right under his nose, but Lance put on such a show of being supremely disappointed in Ansel and me that it took some of the wind out of Mr. Sommer's sails, and he eventually came around at the urging of his wife and gave us his grudging blessing to get married. 

Afterwards, Lance winked at me when Mom and the Sommers' backs were turned. 

I ignored him. 

Unexpectedly, the one who took the news the worst was Ansel's boyfriend. Chris showed up at the apartment where Mom and I were living at 9:37 PM about a week after my engagement to Ansel was made public. He was red-eyed, tight-lipped, and drunk as a skunk. Luckily, my mom was still at the diner and I was home alone.   

"I hope you know you've ruined him, you stupid little slut," he said when I opened the door. "He's so frightened to disappoint them, but he was coming around. He was going to tell them and we could have gotten married and made a life together. But no, you had to go and get yourself knocked up by Lance fucking Tucker and now he's got an excuse to hide again. He's gonna hide forever, and then where will we be? What kind of life will be left for us?" Abruptly, he was crying, great wracking sobs that shook his whole body. 

"I'm sorry," I told him. I didn't know what else to say. "I never wanted to stand between you and Ansel."   

"Well, it's too late now!" He swayed drunkenly, and almost stumbled backward off the stoop. "I hate you," he said. "I just wanted you to know that." 

And off he lurched. 

I felt sick. "Chris, wait!" I called. 

He ignored me, so I ran down the stairs after him. Drunk as he was, it didn't take long to catch up. I grabbed his arm. "Please," I begged. "Come inside and let me call Ansel. I'm sure we can work something out. Look, see? I'm calling him right now." I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit his name on speed-dial, praying frantically that he'd pick up. 

Thank God, he did.   

"Ansel!" I said, my voice sounding high and nervous even to my own ears. "Can you come over to my place? Chris is here right now and I think we all need to talk."   

"He's what?" Ansel said.   

"He's here."   

"Aww, shit," I heard Ansel mutter. Louder, he said, "I'm so sorry, I told him not to bother y-"   

"It's okay," I broke in quickly. "Just come, if you can. We'll wait."   

"Give me 15," Ansel said, and hung up with a click. 

"He's on his way," I told Chris, who had started crying again and was scrubbing fruitlessly at his eyes like that would help him stop. "Please come inside."   

This time, he did. 

By the time Ansel showed up, I'd gotten two glasses of water into Chris and made him wash his face in the kitchen sink. His eyes were still pretty red and puffy, but at least he had managed to stop crying and dripping snot.   

As soon as the doorbell rang, Chris lurched up from the spot where I'd parked him on the couch and tried to answer it, but he was still too drunk to make it without swaying dangerously, and I had to catch him and sit him back down before opening the door myself.   

"Hey, Maggie," Ansel said when he saw me, then immediately pushed past me to go inside. 

Chris floundered to his feet again when he saw Ansel, and Ansel had to cross the room in a bound to catch him before he fell.   

For a moment, Chris was held up by nothing but Ansel's hands on his face as he kissed him fiercely. "You idiot, you fucking idiot," I heard Ansel hissing roughly as I closed the door, turning away to give them a little more privacy.   

"I'm sorry," Chris was sobbing. "I'm sorry."   

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to her," Ansel said, and I turned back in time to see them collapse together onto the couch, still fused together like they were more one person than two. "I can't believe you-"   

"It's okay," I cut in. 

They both turned their heads to look at me, Chris bleary and wet, Ansel tight-jawed and angry.  "It's okay," I said again. "He has a right to be upset. I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry any of this is happening."  

Tears pricked suddenly at my eyes, and before I could blink them away, one spilled over to splash down the front of my shirt. Ansel and Chris both went a little wide-eyed and alarmed at the sight.  

"Uh, should we call Lance?" Ansel said after a minute.  

Chris poked Ansel in the ribs. "She's your fiancée," he said sarcastically. "Give her a hug or something."   

Ansel looked even more like a deer in headlights, visibly reluctant to peel himself away from whatever melding was going on over there. It was almost cute, or would be if it wasn't just one more reminder that I was going to marry a man I hardly knew. A man in love with somebody else.   

"It's okay," I sniffled, trying to pull myself back together. "You don't need to give me a hug. Or call Lance." I sat down on the easy chair across from them and wiped my eyes. "This is something we need to work out with each other." 

Ansel and Chris just looked at me.   

"I don't want to come between you," I told them.   

"Too late for that," Chris muttered darkly.   

"I'm not going to marry you!" Ansel exploded. "You're lying to yourself, Chris! It's not going to happen. I want to. I want to more than anything. But I can't. I love you, but I love them, too. They're my _parents_."   

"They're bigoted, homophobic-"   

"Yes!" Ansel yelled. "Yes, they are! I wish they supported me like yours support you. But they don't and I'm not ready to lose them yet. Can't you see that this is perfect? They'll be off my back and we can still be together whenever we want - Maggie won't care!"   

"I won't," I spoke up. "You guys can still be together whenever you want." 

"You'd let me hang around, after everything I said?" Chris said. He sounded skeptical.   

"Yes," I said.   

" _Why_?" 

I shrugged. "I've never heard of anyone in modern gymnastics making a serious comeback after having a baby. I looked, after I found out I was pregnant. My career is over, so at least I can do something to make other people happy."  

Ansel frowned. "Maggie, you're only 17. You have your whole life ahead of you. What will make _you_  happy?"   

I dropped my hand to my belly. I wasn't supposed to start showing for several more weeks, and it was still flat and taut as the day I won gold at Worlds. If it weren't for the morning sickness, I almost wouldn't have believed that I was pregnant. But I was, and my life would never be the same. 

"I don't know yet," I said. "For now, I'm just taking this one day at a time."   

"That's no way to live life," Ansel protested. "You've got to have plans, you've got to have dreams!"   

 _I had dreams_ , I thought. _And now they're dead_.    

After Chris and Ansel left, I went to my room and had a good cry. I was relieved that I'd managed to win over Chris and come to an agreement with him and Ansel, but seeing the two of them together was just one more painful reminder of how much I'd screwed up my own life. 

I felt like there was a hole inside me where my dreams had died and left nothing behind. Maybe the baby would feel more real to me in a few weeks, when I started showing. Maybe then it would give me something to rebuild my life around. _A baby is a blessing_ , I heard my old pastor say. He'd said it many times, and I'd believed him, once. Now…. Well, now I hoped that it would feel like a blessing some day. But meanwhile, I felt nothing but a terrible, hollow ache. 

When I was a little girl, I always imagined a fairy-tale wedding to a handsome prince who would see me win a gold medal at the Olympics, fall madly in love with me, and carry me off to his castle, far away from the dingy, drafty trailer where I'd grown up.    

So much for that. 

Instead, the man who carried me away from Ohio had turned out to be a boor, I'd lost any chance I ever had of winning Olympic gold, and I was marrying a man who was in love with someone else.    

How could I have let it all go so wrong? 

When my mother got home an hour later, looking tired and frazzled after her long shift, she took one look at my red eyes and pulled a carton of chocolate ice cream out of the freezer and two spoons out of the silverware drawer.    

Just a few weeks ago, I would have turned it down. A champion gymnast with dreams of Olympic gold isn't allowed to eat her feelings - not if she wants to stay a champion for long.    

But now… 

My hand dropped to my belly. 

I was never going to win Olympic gold now. There was no reason to stop myself anymore.   

I took a spoon. 

We sat together at the little table by the window and ate the whole carton in silence while my mom pretended not to see the tears dripping slowly down my nose and I pretended not to notice her pretending.   

Finally, she said, "You don't have to go through with it, you know. You don't have to go through with any of it. We could go somewhere, get it taken care of."   

 _Get it taken care of._  Exactly what Lance said when I told him. I was furious with him - imagine wanting to kill your own child! But I was too tired and heartsick now to react the same way to my mother's words.    

"I couldn't do it, Mom," I told her. "I couldn't kill my baby." 

My mother reached across the little table to squeeze my hand. "I couldn't, either," she said softly, "and I'm happy I didn't. You're the best part of my life. But I was always going to end up a janitor or a waitress or some awful job. I was drifting through life, getting high, hanging out with the wrong crowd. You had dreams, Mags. You were going someplace. You still can."   

"No," I said. "I made my bed and I'm going to lie in it." 

Mom sighed and stood up from her chair to take the empty carton to the trash and wash the spoons. 

"I'm glad you have Ansel, at least," she said when she was done. "He's a much nicer boy than your father was. You have better taste in men than I did when I was your age." 

I let out an involuntary sob and tried to cover it up with a cough.    

"I love him," I lied. I was already getting better at lying. One more thing I'd learned from Lance Tucker. I was going to have to be good at lying, if I was going to pull this off.   

But all I could think inside was, _little do you know_. 

*********

 "Wow, I think your tits have gotten even bigger since the last time I saw you," Lance said when I showed up a few days later at the gym. _Better taste in men_ , my mom had said. I wish. "You'll look like a porn star in no time at this rate."   

Ansel had picked me up from my apartment on his way to practice because we were going to meet our parents at the courthouse after he finished his lesson to try and get a court order to allow us to get married even though I was underage. He had disappeared into the locker room as soon as we arrived at the gym, leaving me alone with Lance.   

Lance had yet to take his eyes off my breasts, which had, admittedly, grown a full cup size in the last few weeks.   

"Leave me alone," I told him. 

"Aww, Baby, don't be like that," he said, reaching out to cup my breasts in his hands like he was weighing them. "Definitely bigger," he smirked.   

"I'm aware," I hissed, knocking his hands off me. 

He put them right back on. 

"I've been reading up," he said, rubbing his thumbs gently across my nipples through the thin fabric of my blouse.    

I shivered involuntarily, feeling them harden under his touch, and his smirk deepened. 

"The internet says they're not only going to get bigger, they're going to get more sensitive." He dragged the last word out, accentuating every syllable, his thumbs pressing more insistently against my nipples.   

"Leave me alone," I said again, trying to ignore the rapidly growing pool of heat in my belly. I was suddenly acutely aware that we hadn't had sex in almost two weeks. 

"I'm just saying, Baby," he murmured. "You've gotta be getting tired of flicking your bean by now and I've got some ideas I think you'll like." 

"Flicking my bean?" 

"Paddling the pink canoe?" he suggested. "Jilling off?"   

When I just stared blankly at him, he rolled his eyes. "The point is, a girl like you needs dick to be satisfied." 

"If you want to have sex," I said, "go pick someone up at a bar."   

"I did," he said. "A couple someones, actually."   

I felt a little stung in spite of myself. I hadn't so much as looked at anyone else, had spent my mornings barfing and miserable because of _his_  baby, and all the while he'd been off having one night stands with strangers from a bar?    

"In that case, I don't see why you care what I'm doing or not doing to get off," I scowled.   

Lance bit his lip, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Nobody else talks like you," he muttered. 

"What?" 

"It just wasn't the same, okay?" he said.   

I felt my mouth drop open. "Are you saying you _missed_  me?"   

His eyes darted around the gym, but Ansel was still in the locker room and there was nobody else in the gym. Like me before my pregnancy, Ansel got private lessons. "Yes, okay?" he muttered in a low voice. "I missed you." 

I couldn't believe it. Handsome Lance Tucker, who could get any woman he wanted with a smile and a crook of his finger, had missed _me_. 

"So are you up for it or not?" he said. "C'mon, Baby, you know I always show you a good time. And it's not like you can get any _more_  knocked up at this point." 

"I-" I started, but just then, Ansel walked out of the locker room, changed and ready for his lesson and everything came rushing back. Lance had set me up with another man rather than marry me. He'd tried to _pay_  me to abort our child. He was smiling and crooking his finger at me and I was ready to all but fall into his arms. But it didn't mean anything to him. 

I didn't mean anything to him. 

"I can't," I said hastily, before Ansel could get close enough to overhear. "I'm sorry, I can't." 

Lance's expression clouded over, but he shrugged. "Have it your way," he said, and stalked off to meet Ansel by the pommel horse. 

I went over to sit in the bleachers and wait for them to finish. 

*********

 As soon as we left the courthouse with the court order in hand, Ansel's mother ("Call me Sue, dear") invited my mother and me to their house for dinner and a discussion about wedding planning. 

Mom looked ready to faint dead away when she saw the house. Lance had told me that Ansel's parents were "rich as fuck" and it turned out that they were the owners of a chain of furniture stores with a bunch of locations all up and down the West Coast. They weren't just wealthy, they controlled a company worth millions and millions of dollars. 

Mom had rarely had more than a couple _hundred_  extra dollars to her name, and she looked increasingly shell-shocked and bewildered with every question Sue asked us at dinner, seated around an enormous, ornate table in a dining room as big as the trailer where I'd grown up. 

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that is," she kept saying, then invariably, after listening to a long-winded explanation of the difference between organza and chiffon or some other such critical issue: "Whatever you think is best, Sue. I'm sure Maggie will love anything you pick."   

But it wasn't until Ansel's father Otto had the draft of a prenuptial agreement delivered to our apartment the next day that she finally broke down. "I don't even know what some of these words _mean_ ," she sobbed when I showed it to her after she got home from work. "How can I let you sign it if I can't even understand what it says?" 

I called Lance. 

"So what am I now, your fixer?" he said, when I explained the situation. 

"Lance, please," I begged. "We don't have anyone else we can turn to." 

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "Fine," he said. "A prenup, you said? That suspicious motherfucker."   

"I guess it would be hard to build a business as successful as his if you were too trusting," I said.   

"You're too nice," Lance said. "He's put some lawyer in charge of drawing this up who doesn't give a shit about you and the baby, or even Ansel. It's all about the money. Well, two can play that game. I can have the gym's lawyer look it over and explain it to you and your mom, maybe try and re-negotiate if there's anything iffy."  

"You'd do that?" 

"Maggie-baby," he said, his voice going soft, "you know I only want the best for you. I won't let them fuck you over." 

"Thank you, D-" I said, just barely cutting off the automatic "Daddy" that almost passed my lips at the sound of his old pet name for me. 

"If you bring it over now, I can give it to the lawyer first thing tomorrow," he said. I couldn't tell whether he didn't hear my slip, or did and was ignoring it. 

"Are you still at the gym?" I asked, surprised. It was after 9 PM.   

"Nah, I'm at home. Can you come?"   

I felt a little thrill run through me in spite of myself. I'd never been to his house before. "I think so," I said. "Just let me just ask my mom."   

"Don't knock yourself out. It's not like I'm doing you a favor here or anything," Lance said sourly. 

My stomach sank at the realization that he was still angry. Before anything else that had happened between us, he had been my coach. Somewhere inside me, I guess I was still hardwired to want to please him. Obey him. 

"Sorry," I said automatically. "Of course I can come over." 

"That's more like it," he said. He hung up with a click. 

I'd gotten used to feeling nauseous in the mornings over the previous few weeks, but it usually calmed down by lunchtime. After I turned off the phone, though, my stomach was so twisted up in knots that I had to run to the bathroom and throw up, even though I never had to throw up in the evenings. 

Unfortunately, Mom heard me. "Is your morning sickness getting worse, honey?" she said from the doorway, when I'd gotten over the first heaves and was still leaning on the edge of the toilet, waiting to make sure it was over. 

"Maybe," I said, hoping she wouldn't ask more questions. I couldn't tell her the truth, that I was scared of facing Lance. 

"What did Lance say?" 

"He told me to bring the pre-nup over to his house and he'll give it to his lawyer to look over tomorrow morning," I told her. 

"Oh thank goodness!" Mom said. "I knew he'd be able to help. He's always looking out for us." 

"Yes," I said, trying not to hear the echo of his voice in hers. "He always takes care of us." 

Mom offered to drive me to Lance's house, but she was on breakfast shift again at the diner early the next morning, so I managed to convince her to go to bed instead and let me borrow the car. In that weird way time sometimes feels during a competition - too long and too short all at once - the drive to Lance's house felt like the longest 15 minutes of my life, and yet before I knew it, I was pulling up behind his red sports car into the driveway of a nice modern bungalow. 

Lance answered the door in his usual costume of a white t-shirt and gym pants, and held the door open for me at an angle that ensured my swollen breasts would brush against him as I squeezed past him to get inside. 

My cheeks flamed. "Here's the prenup," I said, awkwardly shoving it at him. 

"I'll make sure the lawyer gets it first thing tomorrow." He turned away from me to set it down on a little table in the entryway. When he turned back, he didn't say anything, just looked at me for a long moment with a cool, assessing gaze. A coach's gaze, cataloging my faults. 

I bit my lip, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I felt like I might vibrate out of my skin under the weight of his stare. Should I say something? Should I wait? 

"I'm sorry," I blurted out finally, unable to stand the tension any longer. 

He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "You should be. Come with me." And he turned on his heel and marched off down a hallway to the right. 

I followed. 

He led me to the master bedroom, a large room dominated by an enormous California King bed in the center of one wall. Like the rest of the furnishings in the home, it was bedecked in his favorite colors - red, white, and blue. On the wall opposite the bed was his prized Olympic gold medal, mounted in a frame, with medals from other championships surrounding it. 

The gold gleamed softly in the warm light of the room and I walked over to peer more closely at it, feeling a lump form in my throat. The hole inside me ached so badly I felt like it might stop my heart with grief right then and there. The medal was so lovely up close, and I wanted it. I wanted it so badly. 

My hand dropped down to my belly. I knew that keeping the baby was the right thing to do, but in that moment I felt weak, weaker than I had ever felt in my life. I'd spent my entire life dreaming of winning a gold medal at the Olympics, but now this would be the closest I'd ever get to one. Tears stung at my eyes. _A baby is a blessing_ , I chanted silently in my head. It would be worth it. It had to be worth it. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lance murmured. He'd moved so quietly I hadn't even noticed him come up behind me. 

I nodded, not trusting myself to talk without my voice cracking. _A baby is a blessing_ , I told myself again. 

"Shame you'll never have one," he said snidely. 

I whirled around so fast that he had to take an involuntary step back so I wouldn't bump into him. 

"No!" I said. "Don't you do that to me. Not now." To my horror, I immediately burst into tears. "You said you'd always take care of me," I sobbed. 

Lance snorted, completely indifferent to my tears. "You're going from Ohio trailer trash to a member of the 1%. I got you a sweet fucking deal, if you ask me." 

"I feel like a cheat and a liar." 

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "You're doing Ansel a favor here, too, don't forget." 

"I just-" I began. 

"Stop," Lance snapped in his coach voice. "Pull it together. You can't get cold feet now." 

I closed my mouth. 

"That's better," he said. "You're thinking too much again, Maggie-baby. Don't do that. You agreed to my plan, you don't get to second guess it now and put all three of us at risk." 

"Sorry," I muttered, wiping my eyes. 

"I will take care of you, Baby Girl," he said, dropping his voice low and gentle. "You just have to trust that Daddy knows best." 

I could feel myself wavering at the sound of the old pet name. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and let him take care of me. Let him take care of everything. But I couldn't. I had to make him understand how much he'd hurt me. "How can I trust you when you chose your career over me?" I burst out. 

The serious expression on his face vanished immediately and was replaced by another scowl. "I did what had to be done," he said. 

Tears prickled at my eyes again and I blinked hard, willing them away. "You did what had to be done to save yourself," I said. 

Quick as a snake, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of hair from the top of my head, twisting it until I cried out. He dragged me, stumbling, to the bed and forced me to sit on the edge of it. "Still with the in-fucking-subordination?" he demanded, letting go of my hair with a shove that nearly sent me sprawling backwards. "Are we done? Is that what you want? Just to go off and play house with your faggot _fiancé_?" His lips curled up in a sneer. 

"Don't talk about him like that," I said. 

"And now you're defending him," Lance said, throwing up his hands. "Fine. If you think Ansel can take care of you better than I can, I'll wash my hands of you. You can go running to him for help next time his father tries to fuck you over, see how well that goes." 

I froze, remembering Chris crying in Ansel's arms on the couch a few nights before. 

Remembering Ansel's response. 

Mom and I couldn't survive out here without Lance. We'd be lost. Mr. Sommer and his lawyers could do whatever they wanted to us. But there was no way I was giving up and going back to Ohio either. I'd rather die than spend the rest of my life in a trailer park. 

"No," I said. "No, please." 

"Then follow the fucking rules!" he snapped. 

I bowed my head. "I will. Please don't wash your hands of me. I'm sorry." 

His thunderous frown relaxed in an instant. 

"That's more like it," he said. 

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, keeping my eyes down. 

"I want you to stick to the plan," he said. "And none of this crying about how I betrayed you or whatever. I did what had to be done to save _both_  of us." 

"You know best, Daddy," I told him. I'm sure I still looked blotchy and terrible from crying, but I forced myself to raise my gaze to meet his and pasted on a smile, remembering Hope's lessons. If it was a little more tremulous than Hope would have allowed... well. Hope wasn't there. 

Whatever Lance saw seemed to satisfy him all right. "That's right," he said. "I do know best." He crossed his arms and looked at me, a pleased little smile on his face. "I'm glad you've decided to wisen up." 

"You're right," I said. "I've been overthinking everything and not listening to you. I've been very ungrateful. I'm sorry, Daddy. I'll take whatever punishment you think I deserve." 

I heard his breath catch and saw his eyes go dark. "I don't know if punishment will be necessary," he said. "A little reminder of who's in charge is probably enough." 

"Whatever you say, Daddy," I said, dropping my eyes again. 

"Good girl," he murmured, reaching out to stroke my cheek gently with the back of his hand. Then, harder: "Take off your clothes." 

For a split second, I felt my blood run cold, afraid of another belting like the one that had started this whole mess in the first place, but he'd said no punishment was necessary, and I didn't want to seem disobedient. Nervously, I peeled my blouse off over my head, folding it neatly and setting it next to me on the bed. When I turned my attention back to Lance, I found him staring openly at my breasts, his eyes almost comically wide. I glanced down. They were nearly spilling out of my bra, barely contained. I hadn't been able to make it to the store to get a larger size yet. 

"Baby's growing up," Lance said dryly, seeming to collect himself and remember that he was supposed to be directing the scene. "Get that off, let me see them bare." 

I reached behind myself to unhook the bra and pull it off, setting it aside on my folded blouse. My nipples immediately hardened as the cool air hit them. 

"Jesus Christ," Lance said. Before I knew it it, he'd pushed me down flat on the bed and was bending over me, his hands cupping the unfamiliar weight of my growing breasts, his hot, wet mouth closing around my right nipple. "Jesus," he repeated, a murmur that was almost a moan. "If this is what happens to you, you should be knocked up all the time. 

I shivered a little at the thought, picturing myself as I would be in a few months, my belly heavy and swollen with child. Everybody looking at me, knowing what I'd been up to. Knowing that I belonged to somebody, inside and out. 

"Would you like that, Daddy?" I asked. 

"Boobs like this? Fuck yeah," he said, raising his head off them again to look at me. "Maybe," he suggested, sitting up a little so he could rub my belly, "when you pop this one out, we'll put another in you, and another, until we've got a whole team. Fill the whole wall with medals, you like the sound of that?" 

He popped open the button of my jeans and started pulling them off. He dropped them to the floor at the foot of the bed, and did the same with my underwear a minute later. "Maybe even two teams," he continued, finding my clit and rubbing it in a slow, teasing circle, until I gave a muffled moan. He hummed in answer, pleased. "Six boys and six girls," he said. "How about that? You Jesus freaks go for that Quiverfull bullshit, right?" 

"Jesus is not bulls-" I started to say, stung, but snapped my mouth shut when he rolled his eyes at me. 

"No birth control because you have to keep popping out 'arrows for God'? Sounds like bullshit to me." Then he chuckled, as if at some private joke. "But I guess in this case it's the god of gymnastics. I can get behind that. What do you say, Baby Girl?" He started stripping off his own shirt and pants, dumping them on the floor next to my clothes. He stroked himself a few times in quick, rough jerks, squeezing out a drop of pre-come onto his fingers and then pushing them inside me, rubbing and smearing the stuff around like he could get me pregnant again. "You want to be the high fucking priestess of the god of gymnastics?" 

Over his shoulder, the gold medal winked at me in the light. 

"C'mon, you know you want it," Lance said coaxingly, taking his fingers out and pushing one muscular thigh between my legs to spread them apart. "You want to cover the whole wall in gold medals, don't you, Baby Girl?" 

Just one would have been enough, if it was mine. But since that dream was dead, I had to find another. I was ready for the hollow ache inside me to be filled. _A baby is a blessing_ , I repeated to myself. Lance had filled me with one blessing, and he could give me more. Maybe at least one of our children would grow up to be a champion gymnast. Maybe I could enjoy guiding the next generation to heights that I would never achieve. 

"I-" I began, but my words were cut off by his groan of pleasure as he pressed himself against my opening. 

"Two weeks," he growled, "is too fucking long to make me wait for this, Baby Girl." And he shoved roughly inside me. 

I gasped sharply at the sudden intrusion, but Lance looked like he was in heaven. His eyelashes fluttered shut and for a moment his scowl vanished, replaced by an expression so calm it was almost blissful. "I fucking missed this," he muttered, dropping a light kiss on the tip of my nose. "There's nobody like you, Maggie-baby. Talk to me." 

"F-fuck me, Daddy," I told him, in that sweet voice he liked so much, stumbling only a little over the swear word. 

"That’s right," he grunted. "Just like that, Baby, just like that."

"Fill me up, Daddy," I said, wrapping my legs around him to grind him deeper into me. He groaned again at the sensation, rocking his hips in sync with mine, and then gathered himself and pulled back, grabbing my legs and slinging them up over his shoulders before shoving back in again, hard and deep enough to make me cry out. 

"Daddy!" I gasped the word like it was being punched out of me. He grinned, white teeth flashing like a wolf among lambs, and grasped my thighs in a bruising grip, using them as leverage to start snapping his hips back and forth at a punishing pace There was a spot inside me that made me see stars every time he hit it, and he seemed to have an unerring instinct for it - nailing it with every thrust until I was a writhing mess under him on the bed, my breath coming in short, sharp pants like I was running a vault instead of lying flat on my back with my legs in the air. 

"Say it again," he said. "Call me Daddy again, baby. Get it through your head what I am to you." 

"Fuck me, Daddy," I gasped again. I was close, so close, my whole body clenching around him, arching into him, away from him, my mind white and empty of everything but want. 

"Don't fucking come, girl," he snapped. "Don't you dare. I want you fucking begging for it." 

"No!" The word escaped me in a wail before I could stop it, and Lance slapped me hard across the face. 

"Beg for it," he snarled. 

"Please," I sobbed. Tears were burning in my eyes and my cheek stung, but my body was still thrumming with the energy of his thrusts, orgasm building relentlessly, and I threw back my head, straining with the effort of holding it back. "Please," I whimpered, "please. Daddy, I can't, I can't." 

"Have you learned your lesson?" 

"I have. I have, Daddy. Please!" 

"No," he said. "I don't think you have." He slowed down almost as abruptly as he'd started, pressing his weight down on me until I was nearly folded in half underneath him, his dick sliding in and out of me as easy and gentle as can be. 

Too gentle. 

I let out an agonized cry as the tension that had been building and building in me collapsed with no release. 

"I'm begging," I sobbed, my chest still heaving, heart thundering in my ears. "I'm begging, please!" 

Lance just hummed, and reached a hand between us to rub idly at my clit. My body jerked involuntarily at the touch, and he smirked at me, but his smirk vanished into a moan when his fingers came back slick and wet, shining with juices. "This for me?" he said, voice rough. "You wet for me?" 

I was actually crying by then, tears leaking from the corner of my eyes, too overstimulated to even speak. 

"Is it for me?" he asked again, pushing his fingers back between us, pushing them into me, first one, then two and three, sliding in alongside his thick dick, stretching me, filling me up even more. It was so good, and I couldn't, I couldn't- 

"So wet," Lance murmured, voice breaking through my scrambled thoughts. "You're so wet. Is it all for me? Say it. Say it, Baby Girl, and I'll fuck you harder." 

"Please," I whimpered, not sure I was even capable of anything else. "Please…" 

"Say it," he growled, harsher this time. "You know what you have to do, so do it." 

"Please, Daddy," I gasped out in a rush. "It's all for you. All yours." 

"Good girl, good girl," Lance said, pushing in a little harder, but not hard enough, not- "One more time. Say it again." 

"Please!" I sobbed. "I'm yours, all yours." 

Lance grinned again, feral, pulling his hand back out of me and grasping my thigh again, his fingers shining wetly in the dim light of the room. "Don't forget it again," he growled, and slammed himself back into me to the hilt. 

The sound that escaped my lips was something like a wail as the impact drove the breath from  my lungs, and then he was fucking me again, fucking me like I was made to be fucked, rough and fast. “Come now,” Lance gasped, hoarse. “Right now, Baby Girl,” he said, and my brain whited out completely in a hot burn of pleasure.   

It might have been two minutes later or ten when I felt his thrusts go wilder and less controlled, his own need taking over as his orgasm built. I could hear my own ragged breathing, my heart thudding in my ears like something outside of me, something that belonged to someone else, and he was gasping, too, bent over me with his breath hot on my neck and voice rough enough that I could only catch some of what he was saying - "Baby, my Baby Girl…"   

I moaned in response, and at the sound, Lance's whole body shuddered. He shouted, halfway between a cry and a roar, as he came, spurting hot and liquid within me and then I was lost again in the pulsing waves of pleasure and it was only long minutes later that my body finally stilled and my breathing returned to normal.   

"Daddy?" I mumbled, when I finally found my voice again, running my fingers through his sweat-damp hair. 

He raised his head to look at me. "Nice to have you back, Baby Girl," he said, eyes soft and fond. Once, it would have filled me with an answering rush of warmth. Once, I would have believed that he loved me. 

Now, I waited. 

Sure enough, the soft expression vanished almost immediately, replaced by his typical smirk. 

"Well," he said. "I'm pretty sure if you weren't already knocked up, that would've done the trick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a quote from the film


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